


The Dirt on Everything

by MistyBeethoven



Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [49]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: BBW, Bathing/Washing, Bed Sex, Breast Fucking, Caring, Christian Character, Cleaning, F/M, Falling In Love, For Adults Only, Goodbye Sex, Goodbyes, Healing, Homelessness, Large Breasts, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Stories, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overweight, Penis In Vagina Sex, Playing Doctor, Rain, Rain Sex, Rimming, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Separations, Soap, Towels, Virginity, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: After John Wick's fall from the Continental rooftop, the Bowery King orders Tick Tock Man to give the broken assassin to me to heal. One of the Bowery King's surviving homeless subjects, I have a talent for fixing broken items which Wick obviously is. Growing closer, John learns of my hatred of the dirt which seems to cover everything in the underground tunnels where we are hiding.Once he is healed, and I dread his leaving, John has one unique request of me before he leaves with the Bowery King on their mission of revenge against the High Table:To wash each other clean in the rain falling down through a grate above us.
Relationships: Bowery King & Me, John Wick & John Wick's Unnamed Dog, John Wick/Me, Me & John Wick's Unnamed Dog
Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589944
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The Dirt on Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to update another fic next but this plot came to me on Wednesday morning and I had to write it down first before I forgot it or the chance passed me by. God sends an idea, I am the writer and just scribble it down for better or worse.
> 
> With the world currently the way that it is, there seems to be dirt on everything. It's our selfishness, blindness, hate, ignorance...anything that is destructive to ourselves and to others. And if you stay too long watching it you start to feel it seeping into your heart and soul. Lately, I've been feeling like Chris Chambers in "Stand by Me" when he's crying to Gordie about just wanting to get away. Or Ofelia in "Pan's Labyrinth" when she's telling her mother that she just wants to be somewhere else. I don't want to be here.
> 
> Writing these stories helps me to escape when I can't physically do it. And even though writing can be hard when I'm in pain, like it was on Wednesday, writing this particular piece when it honestly felt like my brain was under constant attack from my OCD and my heart and soul were in pain and almost completely discouraged, it is my hope, passion and safety hatch so I don't go crazy.
> 
> Well not anymore than I already am anyway.

The Tick Tock Man rolled what remained of John Wick into my little corner of the Bowery King's underground sanctuary and I was informed that I would now be expected to care for him. At least, it was claimed to me that it was John Wick: the infamous Baba Yaga. Right then all he resembled was a large bag of skin, containing bones all fallen on top of each other.

"He's badly broken," I commented.

"Yeah and you're supposed to put him back together, little girl," Tick Tock man stated once more. "The King's orders. It's what you're good at after all."

I wasn't a little girl, be it either in age or size. I had long passed adolesence and I was large in body despite years spent on the street and under the Bowery King's rulership. But I _was_ good at fixing stuff and healing creatures. The Bowery King used to have me attend to any carrier pigeon which showed up wounded. Still this shattered man looked an impossible task.

"What if he's too far gone," I commented. "Can he even talk?"

A sound emerged from the gathering of bones and flesh and I realized in embarrassment that not only could the man but he could hear too.

"Yeah..." John Wick managed to mumble with great difficulty and bitterness. "I can talk."

And I could blush very well too I discovered.

Not that, if the fallen and broken assassin's eyes _were_ working as well, he could have seen that fact well in my little candle lit area of the Bowery King's kingdom.

An area I was now expected to share with the most famous underworld killer which had ever existed.

* * *

While I knew John Wick's name immediately, he did not know mine for a few weeks. It seemed that with the pain that he was battling with every single second of his current existence as a betrayed and still wanted assassin, one whom had fallen from the Continental rooftop, supposedly shot off by a trusted ally, he was not interested in the name of the woman whom was tending to him. He lay on my smelly, dirt covered and mildewed mattress groaning in agony or just breathing very heavily and with much labor as I took care of redressing his wounds, making new splints and trying to keep him as clean and unseptic as I could in a landscape where human beings were not usually meant to reside. At night I slept by his side and wondered over the fact that I was frequently studying the body of a naked man and sleeping by his side but that love or sex had nothing to do with it.

At least not for the man.

Caring for him, I could not help but feel some love towards him and his plight. I would stroke his forhead, run my fingers through his dark and greasy hair, even though this was not called on for my caretaking of John Wick.

He opened his eyes once and caught me doing it infact. His hand instinctively grabbed my wrist and his pained eyes, made almost black by the shadows of the room we were in, met my own in wrath. I saw him journey from confusion to awareness and then remembrance and finally shame.

"Sorry," he mumbled, letting go of my arm.

I finished the caress I was giving to his forehead and then brought my wrist close to my chest and the dirt smeared clothing covering it. The feeling of his fingers remained like a bracelet worn for too long. Watching me trying to relieve the dull ache, John Wick looked even more apologetic than before.

"What's your name?" he finally thought to ask me.

"Erin," I gave it and let go of my wrist. It still hurt a little but I had no desire to make the man feel guilty.

"Nice name," he commented.

"Thanks. I like yours too."

He laughed bitterly. "Which one? I've had many."

It was true, I had heard.

Jardani Jovonovich

John Wick

Baba Yaga

"All," I replied. "I like them all. Which do you prefer?"

He didn't need long to consider it. "John," he answered. "It's what my wife, Helen, called me."

Knowing full well the story of his loss, I couldn't help but bring my hand forward again to touch his cheek. John Wick let me this time, being aware now of where he was and whom I was too. I heard the sound of his dog yawning from the corner as he settled down on the dirt covered floor. To him it probably looked as if I was just petting his Master.

At first, I wondered if he thought this was strange: a human being petted.

After two seconds, I knew that he probably believed it to be perfectly normal. Who was to say that in the canine's eyes that John Wick wasn't just a large and erect dog?

To me, the assassin remained a man though. A fact I was constantly reminded of, needing to sponge bathe him often down in the dirty and muddy tunnel lair of the Bowery King.

* * *

One day, as I was washing off Wick's legs, noticing that they were beginning to heal and fighting the sadness at the realization that one day he would use them to walk away from me, he asked me how I had come to join the Bowery King's rank and file. I believed that the question was posed to half fight off the embarrassment we were both feeling at the internally acknowledged fact that my caring for him was an intimate act. John had stopped sleeping away most of the day now and could fully witness what I did to keep him clean and uninfected. Not a man to rely on others, or to have somebody whom was a virtual stranger see him both weak and naked, he sought to discover more about his caregiver.

"I came to New York from a small town in Ontario, Canada," I said. "I easily fell through the cracks once I got here. No work which meant no place to stay. I met with a group of the Bowery King's subjects and they brought me to him. I have a good hand at healing he found. One he could exploit often when it came to his wounded followers or his birds. There are many threats to them in the city...hawks, cats...people that hate them. I've always loved all of God's creatures, especially the helpless kind."

John Wick laughed. "Like me?"

He turned suddenly sheepish after realizing that he had virtually stated that I loved him. It was just a joke, but feeling embarrassed myself, I only carried on with my history, leaving the question to lie in the dirty bedsheets between us.

"I was away the day that the Adjudicator announced her verdict of guilt on the King for aiding you in the murder of Santino D'Antonio. When I returned and my lord gathered up his few remaining subjects, I was brought here. Brought here and given a broken assassin to try to heal."

"And doing a good job," John Wick stated. "I'm glad you were out that day. It was to my benefit. "

I lowered my head in an attempt to hide my blush and started to clean Wick's brown-gray feet.  
I sighed as my towel became dirty all too quickly.

"Something wrong?" the man asked.

I met his eyes. "It is so dirty here. Everything gets covered in filth and muck. Even your feet when you haven't even been able to walk on them! I can't keep you clean! I can't make myself clean! It's like ever since I fell through the cracks I've been plastered with dirt and no matter how hard I scrub it won't come off."

John Wick was staring at me or more specifcally the tears that were falling angrily from my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.

"Come here," he said.

I walked slowly towards him, ashamed of my outburst.

Rolling on his side, an act which caused him visible distress, he stared up at me. "You could never get me clean anyway," he remarked vaguely before reaching upwards and touching my face. "But you're wrong. Your tears took the dirt off of your face where they fell. They have a tendency to do that."

He traced their tracks on my face. His fingers were soft and gentle more than his reputation of having used them to kill would have suggested. Feeling his fingertip, I moved my head quickly, letting it fall to my lips instead. I was surprised when John allowed it to trail lower to my throat, stopping at the collar of my graying blouse hidden beneath my bulky and dirt encrusted sweater.

I looked down to find the assassin looking surprised at his own action. He was squirming on my old, worn mattress and trying to relieve the shame I had helped to create, I said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," John Wick replied re-adorning his mask of imperviousness.

* * *

Months having passed and Wick almost entirely healed, he shocked the other subjects of the King by choosing to remain with me. They took his refusal of another room to mean that we had become lovers. The truth was, however, that the assassin had not touched me once since that day when he had told me that my ability to cry had washed the dirt away from me. Why he chose to stay, I never understood. Maybe it was because he, in truth, held no fondness for the Bowery King or any of the monarch's other subjects besides Earl. That was probably it. Although something deep inside me whispered that an attraction had started to bloom between us both, like some dark rose managing life in the dark recesses of the underground. Maybe the dirt I had decried that one day had become the soil it had rooted itself in. The attraction was there but neither of us acted on it.

John Wick's final healing meant that the plans he had spent weeks forming, in regards to taking down the High Table, could finally come to fruition. I perceived that between this flower and the one of our growing attraction that it was the bud of revenge that John Wick had chosen to let bloom.

That was what I believed, anyway, until John Wick showed to me otherwise.

* * *

"C'mon," John Wick announced.

He was standing in the doorway to my room, fully recovered now, and staring at me while I sat reading a paperback on our matress. As I had sat there, the book not being strong enough to hold my interest, my mind had constantly drifted off to John Wick and my love for him. And when it did not land there it immediately went to the horrible matress beneath me. I longed for new sheets, ones that did not threaten us with the chance of waking up with an upper respriatory infection every night we fell asleep on them. John had been off plotting with his Highness again a fact I hated for it reminded me of the inevitability of his mission, one it was unlikely he would return from.

"Where are we going?" I asked, tossing the book on to the bed. It was raining heavily outside and we both were shy and uncomfortable being around the others. A fact worsened by their recent jokes made under their breaths regarding the true nature of our relationship.

"You'll see," he promised, grasped my hands and pulled me deeper into the tunnels.

We were going farther away from the others but neither of us cared. I laughed as I heard the rain above us and started to sing that old song from Butch Cassady and the Sundance Kid. When John joined in, badly, we both laughed louder and I fell into his back suddenly, as my pace outdid his, kissing it and hoping he could not tell.

"We're leaving tomorrow," John Wick informed me impassively, without facing me.

"Oh," I replied.

My mood suddenly dampened more drastically by the news than the weather, itself, had managed, I looked ahead in shock as I saw before us a part of the tunnel where the rain was furiously falling down inside. At the entrance to this area, placed safely away where the rain would not find them and folded neatly, presumably waiting for our arrival, were a few towels and fresh clothing. Sitting on top of them was a bar of soap.

John Wick smiled as he began to remove his tie. "The best we can hope for a shower down here. Can you do me the honor?"

I swallowed hard enough to hurt as John continued to strip. Cleaning him off on the matress we shared was a far different matter than what John was suggesting. Still he threw the most obvious fact at me anyway:

"Besides you've seen everything already."

I walked towards him, dutifully grabbing the bar of soap first, as I walked towards the rain still dressed.

"You too," John said, now shirtless and holding out his hand, stopping me from stepping into the actual rain before him.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"You're getting clean too, Erin. You wash my back, I'll wash yours."

"I can't," I almost pleaded, the fear in my eyes, in my voice, in the trembling of my hand, in which the soap now felt far too heavy. I didn't want him to _see_ me. I was too asahmed of my weight and the fact that, whatever John's attraction was for me, it would not survive my full exposure and his unobstructed gaze.

"You can't either," I said, my mind landing on an excuse. "Won't they see you...the passerbys above, I mean."

His gaze was steady on me as he strarted to undo his belt. "We're under a vacated part of the city. Nobody comes here anymore. We'll be safe."

I lowered my gaze at the water running past us. He grasped my wrist for the second time since our meeting, his belt flopping down not completely free from the belt loots on his trousers and dangling down by his knee. His grip on my wrist was gentle this time, however, and he knew me far better now.

Obviously he wanted to know me even better still.

"One last favor for a friend," John Wick implored.

Was there anyway I could deny him after the implication of his words? He was leaving me tomorrow, possibly to his death. I might never see him again and yet his one request was to fully see me before the chance would be taken from him completely. I returned to the pile of towels and placed the soap and towel I had been holding safely down again. For the first time, I saw that one of the piles of fresh clothes was designed for a woman and one my size also. Slowly, I walked back to begin undressing only to find that John was almost done.

He was just stepping out of his boxers when I returned to begin undressing. My eyes went over his long torso, his strong thighs and legs and his flaccid well sized penis with his full balls beneath them. It was a warm day in the tunnels and I doubted the rain would be cold enough to trouble the man with the fear of what that might cause. The sight of John naked was not new to me but I was still shy and excited. The first pangs of arousal started within me as I looked at his member, wondering if I was to clean it too under the rain falling in. He turned and stepped into the downpour. The raindrops hit his large buttocks, and I watched one of them as it slid lower on his pale skin just as he had watched the teardrop fall down my cheek. When he faced me, his body on full display, both the hair on his head and the dark patch lower started to become soaked. I noticed some pubes sticking to the left side of his thigh and then trembled as my eyesight lowered and I saw his penis and scrotum glistening with an accumulation of Heaven's tears.

"Erin," he said.

Turning my gaze away from him, an act which felt close to a sin, I started to remove my own clothing so I could join him in the rain. I removed everything faster than I had planned. The more I gave myself time, the more my anxiety would grow and I would likely turn and run away. I could not dare to look at John Wick's face as I undressed. I removed my bra, gray now when once upon a time it had been white, last. I held my arms over my chest directly afterwards but knew it was too late to have hidden anything from the gaze of the man I had come to love. Raising my eyes, the look inside of them, I was sure, betrayed how I felt scared: scared and defiant. I was confident once he had seen me he would regret his one last favor.

Instead, all I saw was John gazing at me lovingly, his cock amost at half mast.

"The soap," he reminded gently as I started to walk towards him, called forward by his kind eyes and his rising member.

I hurried to get it and one of the towels my round, fat ass directed right at the poor man as I bent over, I realized too late. Standing up and throwing him an apologetic look backwards over my shoulder. There was no revulsion on John Wick's face though. Only his own stoic variation of hunger and a penis even more erect than before.

Towels and green bar of soap in hand, I walked to the assassin I loved and stood before him. My eyes could not help from studying him again at this closer distant between us. His body still wore scars but it was whole again. And I had held a hand in making it so. I stared at God's, John Wick's and my own handiwork and was pleased that, at least, if he was going into battle he was doing it returned back to his previous state.

"Do you still love me even though I am no longer helpless?" he asked as he peered down at me, his voice soft.

"Yes," I said and placed my hand over the wet skin over his heart.

He moved closer, took me in his now fully mended arms and kissed the top of my head.

"Where do I start?" I whispered.

"Anywhere," he said. His voice thick was as if his throat was as encrusted with as much dirt as his body.

I looked at his strong shoulders. The ones with which had had born the death of his beloved wife, the murder of a sweet innocent puppy named Daisy and the following days of pain, running, being hunted and betrayed. My hand rubbed the bar of soap in circles on his skin and although the grime resisted at first, I had not had the courage to bathe him since his recovery, I soon watched as I saw a clean patch emerging. As I continued on with my work, using both soap and towel, John watched me. His dark eyes were filled with the same restrained lust but it had found a certain sorrow there also. When he parted from me he would miss the woman whom had cared for him. I knew this much even if I could not, did not, have the trust in my self worth to say that what he felt for me was actually love.

I worked my way down his body, moving to the back when needed. I kissed his unclothed skin now, the hands praying on the back, the tattoos of the wolf and the demon. While I had been cleaning John, I had noticed his erection growing. My hands on him held no experience, except for what they had imagined, but this appeared to be enough to get him appropriately hard. I was responding in like fashion. The space between my legs was throbbing with what felt like its own secret heart.

At John's buttock, I got to my knees and scrubbed his ass and thighs off. My hand lathered soap boldly, dipping into the deep crevice and cleaning him there as well. I shocked both him and myself when my head buried itself in there as well. My tongue found his asshole and began to lick it, tasting more soap than anything else. John moaned as one of my hands slinked around to the front to feel his now fully engorged cock while the other cupped his full testicles. My tongue continued probing his opening as my hand ran easily up and down his drenched shaft, my hand squeezing his testicles. I felt dirty. But I had wanted to do this any time I had seen John's ass while cleaning him.

This, however, was not the only area I had wanted to explore with my tongue.

Still pumping the man's cock, I licked the length of his crack, kissed each cheek and then crawled to his front again on my hands and knees. I met John Wick's full erection on the other side. It was standing right in front of me; changing my position to one where I was kneeling before it, I let the member rest between my breasts as I teasingly made a show of redirecting my focus to his thighs. It was obvious he enjoyed the feel of his fat penis sandwiched between my large breasts, especially as I intentionally pressed them tighter against it with my upper arms. John Wick gazed down to see his red cock peeking between my white and glistening mammaries like a very large and angry serpent nestled lovingly by two huge, circular pillows. John Wick gazed down mesmerized. He was trying to thrust into my breasts as I continued to rub down his thighs with the soap and towel. A mixture of precome and rain fell onto my breasts, easing the sliding of the member up and down my cleavage. I caught the head of the penis in my mouth until, placing the soap between my legs, and dropping the towel completely, I paid my full attention to John's demanding yet so far patient cock. The pleasures assassin threw his head back and continued jutting his hips, the rain falling on to his upraised face. I continued to move my breasts against his shaft as I licked the glans and slit, holding it between my lips which clenched and unclenched. My hands reached round to cup and carress his ass and the back of his thighs. When John moved his head to look down at me again, he stroked my soaked curls and I looked up at him with all the love I felt contained in my widely opened eyes. He came violently in my mouth and I kept him there, swallowing the mixture of sperm and semen flooding my cheeks.

Although, John had come, his legs and feet were still covered in grime and I endeavored to finish cleaning him off as I heard him breathing heavily above me. Kneeling over the assassin's feet, I started to suck on his toes, one by one and then wash them the soap and wipe them off with my hair.

"I'm not Jesus," John Wick stated.

"I know," I said kissing the tops of his feet. "But I love you and know, just like Mary did, that you will not be here forever."

I was crying on to the feet then as I kissed them for I had admitted out loud the inevitable fact of his absence.

"Get to your feet, Erin," I heard John Wick gently say. "Your turn."

At this distance now, John could see the redness of my eyes and know that I had been weeping. He took the soap and the other towel and began to clean me off too. For every part of my body he cleansed, John Wick would gently kiss me there afterwards. While standing behind me, his hands moved to and lingered on my breasts, which were smooth and slippery. His fiingers rubbed my inverted nipples, which tingled, before he lowered his head into the crook of my neck and kissed me there urgently. I pressed my bottom against his groin, sighing as my clit throbbed more insistently as I felt John's cock pressing against my back end. His hands squeezed my breasts more hungrily and I wriggled my wet skin against his own, my nipples tingling pleasantly into the palms of his hands. John moved to the front and began to wash my breasts from this position now. Once cleaned to his liking, his mouth found each one in turn and began to suckle them, urging them to come out. They could not help but heed the man's persuasive tongue. The feeling went straight to my genitals again, making them feel on fire inspite of the water surrounding us.

John licked in between my large breasts and then placed his head between them too as he played with a nipple. "I can still taste me on you," he said. "The rain and the soap couldn't wash me off."

I held his head to my heart. "Never," I vowed.

Though, I felt John's erection against my thigh the man continued on with my washing. When he reached my crotch, his lips found my clit already swollen for him as his tongue dipped into my folds and his fingers explored my vagina and my asshole on the other side. I started to moan and grab John's shoulders as he played with me, his head pressed into my vulva. I watched as my fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders as I felt him making my pleasure swell to its peak.

" _Ahhhh....unh...aahhh...AHHHH_!" I cried out as that pleasure finally burst.

I pushed forward, John's face being buried more into my spread flesh and one of my nails broke through the skin on his shoulder. I felt guilt at the sight of the blood but my ecstasy was full and the ferocity of my spasming all consuming. I closed my eyes and when I opened them and looked down it was to find John bemusedly staring up at me.

His hand left my ass and he petted my vulva as if it was a small animal, kissing it right in the middle of its furry center before proceeding to clean my legs and feet. Sensing I enjoyed him running the towel through my toes he did it several times.

Before rising to his feet, he stopped to hold my legs along the way and I stroked his hair again, letting some wet strands fall between my fingers. Standing once again, John touched my face gently and I could not tell if he could distinguish my tears from the raindrops which were still falling.

"I guess that we're clean now," I said.

"Yes."

Having cared for John Wick after his fall from the Continental, and during a time when almost every bone in his body had been fractured, if not shattered altogether in several places, and also having never needed to in our peaceful existence together under New York City, I had never been given the opportunity to witness the skills he had reportedly spent years at the Tarkovsky theatre honing. Now, however, as he lifted my overweight body effortlessly up in his strong hands, moved us both towards the stone wall of the tunnel with astounding speed and passionately held me up against it as he started to ravenously clamp his lips around where my shoulder met my neck, I was given the glimpse I had secretly yearned for. This was John Wick in action, the momentum of his will and the artwork of the action committed by his body. I called out in exquisite pain as my legs wrapped around his naked waist and he entered my body with an almost violent energy, proclaiming that just for this moment he had left his stoicism far behind him. I could feel myself tearing, the experience I had longed for since I had been a teenager and first learnt of the pain associated with a woman's first time. This was why I had refused to sell my body for pay when a man had first optioned it for me, though, it had meant being thrown out of my apartment and cast to the streets where more offers had come.

Sex was not for profit for me nor was it for fun. Sex meant love but I had never found a man whom had loved me back until John Wick.

I bit my lip trying to hold back my whimpers of pain and discomfort as John continued to have me against the wall. I could feel the stone tearing into my skin at the back in places as well. If he heard me crying again, though, he might exit me before he had come. And I wanted his seed deep inside me before he left. He was still too busy with my neck to notice the tears falling out of my eyes and mingling with the rain still. His head soon becoming buried in my chest and sucking on their raised peaks as if he was feeding off of me, I tasted blood as I prayed to God for some pleasure and not pain. John was too big or my entrance was far smaller than my size would imply. I felt as if his cock was a battering ram being pushed inside of me. Picturing it moving within my tunnel, like the one John Wick was making love to me inside, I felt my arousal finally begin to overpower my pain. I watched his lips clamped around my right nipple and I moaned in ecstasy, aware that his pulsating cock was proof of how much he was excited by me and I was giving him pleasure in return. A shot of hot bliss coursed through my lower half and I became no longer chained to my fear and pain.

If John wanted _me_ as his final request...

Then he would have me.

My hand felt his back, wet and sleek and dug into his flesh as my foot began to carress his right buttocks. In retaliation, the assassin drove into me harder and I felt him hitting my womb.

"JOHN!" I cried out his favored name, feeling the stone wall cutting the skin on my back more forcefully and resulting in fresh pain but nowhere near the pleasure coursing throughout my whole being.

Grabbing the bottom of my ass, John lifted me away from the wall and threw us on to the floor. I lay in the collected raindrops on the ground of the tunnel as John continued pounding into me. I came without mercy as John continued his consensual assault with his unspent weapon. His lips found my breasts again and I realized that he was not about to set me free. Making me come once was not on his itinerary. I arched my back while his lips and tongue played with my hardened nipple again.

" _Ohhhunnnhhh_ ," I moaned and wriggled beneath him.

Removing his lips hold on my teat, his mouth found my own as he thrusted and thrusted, making the blood continually rush to my vagina and clit. Another quick move from the assassin and I found myself on top of him. I watched as the raindrops pelted his face as it displayed his own obvious ecstasy to me. They slid off, seeming to wash away his reserve and common sadness to reveal the passionate and sensual human underneath. I rode him, moving my fat ass up and down on the tower of his dick. My hands massaged the falling rain into his chest, my hands resting over his nipples as I continued to pump and grind, feeling his cock hitting clit, cunt and womb alike and pushing me into another climax.

"Erin," he whispered and it was too much seeing his head rock back and forth in his satisfied desire and to hear him say my name in passion. I cried out once more and started to come again.

Watching me crying out, my body wracked with another orgasm he had given to me, I heard John moan and then unleash as he ejaculated forcefully. It felt as if his swollen cock was exploding inside of me, dancing within the tightness of my walls which clenched on it possessively. His hands found my tits again and rubbed them in each hand, causing my few last spasms to equal the first.

I was whimpering when it was over, my body and my soul trying to process what had just happened to them both. John rose until he was sitting and then he took me in his arms and held me. "It's okay," he whispered and rocked my body, guessing that I had just given him my virginity.

He kissed my cheek and then my lips and held me tightly whispering that it was alright and that he loved me as the rain continued to fall down on us.

* * *

When we returned to our room, I found John Wick had one more surprise left for me. There was a new mattress waiting for us with fresh sheets covering it. John held me from behind and kissed my neck which smelt of Irish Spring. "A little thank you," he whispered into my ear.

I was crying again without the disguise of rain as John began to undress me and then himself. Very gently, the assassin placed me on our mattress as he kissed me tenderly. It wasn't a bed of roses, of course; it was only one with clean bedsheets.

Yet it was _infinitely_ better.

Even if it would not stay that way for long given what we were doing.

This time our lovemaking was as soft and gentle as it had previously been violent and almost desperate. Our new clothes on the floor, our bodies naked, linked and under sheets which actually smelled like linen and not mould, we spent the night making love and not caring if we were quiet about it..

It was what everybody already believed we did anyway.

* * *

In the morning, I awoke on the same, but not as clean, new bedsheets. I found the boring paperback lying back by my side somehow and opened on its last page. It was one of those old books which included some blank pages at its end as if for the reader to scribble down notes or thoughts, though it was probably more likely a printing necessity than anything else. I would have asked John, whom had restored books when he had lived with a woman named Helen, but he was not there.

Scribbled on the final page was a difficult to read note:

**_Erin,_ **

**_I couldn't stand to say goodbye to you. If I don't come back, don't grieve too much. What you told me and what I told you months ago was true. The dirt gets everywhere. You may be able to clean my body but you could never clean my soul. No matter how hard you tried. And I couldn't live making you dirty by being as close to me as I selfishly let you become. Look after Dog. I love you._ **

**_\- your John too_ **

I sat on the bed for the rest of the day, clutching the paperback to my heart, and praying to God and his Son, whose blood had washed away the sins of Man, that They would let John Wick return to me. I had tell him that he was wrong, you see. The last page in the novel had been speckled with water, which had not been rain, and the ink had been dripping from it slightly also.

As John Wick had once told me, tears had the power to wipe anything clean.

Including a human soul.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to thank everybody that reads the entries in this series. It means a lot. I don't get staggering hits or kudos but, believe me, I am grateful for each one. So thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> I keep vainly hoping that somehow Keanu Reeves will read these one day but I don't have much hope there. Lots of them are very sexual and pornography doesn't seem like his thing. A man who was rumored to have turned down sharing a meal with a group of Playboy Bunnies on his Birthday doesn't seem all that interested in prurient pleasures. Which I find refreshing and am grateful for. Of course, he also said he liked "The Exorcist" when he was 11 because of the tittaltion factor so...I don't know. You're an enigma, Mr Reeves. Care to let me try to figure you out? Give me five meetings at 30 minutes. Then I can see what we are like together. Because people each create a unique atmosphere and chemistry when they are together but you can't tell what that would be like unless you actually meet. :/
> 
> But as stories, I would like to know what he would think of each one. Even if he criticized them mercilessly. He likes telling stories (his films); I like telling stories. We share that in common. And I do try to put my heart and soul into the stories that I am telling and I think some of them aren't half bad and are interesting at least.
> 
> They are a love letter to the man. But it's awfully sad when a love letter is unread.
> 
> But to everyone who is reading, thank you. Stories need readers too. Thank you for being mine! :D <3


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